


A Break in the Clouds: Supplementals

by Ash_Rabbit



Series: On Cloudy Skies [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Typical Child Neglect, Gen, No beta we die like archival assistants, Spoilers up to MAG 167, Time Travel, a companion piece to be clear, from Jon's perspective, gertrude era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Rabbit/pseuds/Ash_Rabbit
Summary: Jon's side of things in "A Break in the Clouds"
Relationships: Original Elias Bouchard & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: On Cloudy Skies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940623
Comments: 13
Kudos: 240





	A Break in the Clouds: Supplementals

When Jon steps into the past it’s a dreary Monday, and his childhood bully, Evan Pritchard, has just stolen _‘A Guest for Mr. Spider’_ from him. He’s shaking, whether it be from waking in media res, or from the shock of the Leitner's spell being broken. His ears are filled with a buzzing static as the scene replays just as he remembers.

“What’s this?” Evan sneers, waving the cardboard book far above Jon’s reach “The little Einstein’s reading a kiddie book?” he flips roughly through the pages, falling into the meticulous web he’d accidentally ripped Jon from.

“Give it back Evan!” he yells, reaching for the Eye, but the static crackles violently in his throat, coating it with the taste of ozone, and he’s left gagging on the absence.

And so, just as before he can only bear witness to the disappearance of Evan Pritchard. Like a banshee he wails as the Eye fails to acknowledge his call. He has to- needs to do it right this time. He refuses to stand by when he knows he can do something, even just to save this awful teen. No one deserves this.

Why else would he be brought back this far if it wasn’t to enact even the smallest of changes?

The book is set against a door, and the static grows louder, filling his head with belligerent white noise. But even still, he can hear Evan knocking on the door, threads of silver guiding his fist.

KNOCK-KNOCK. 

And as Mr. Spider's long gangly limbs emerge from the tiny door, and Jon screams in radio static, pushing past the white noise, and the dam that chokes him, letting copper flood his tongue- 

the Eye opens. 

“THROW THE BOOK!” 

Evan hurls the book away. But it’s too late. 

Mr. Spider has answered the door.

And Mr. Spider is hungry.

Evan is dragged through, still dazed from the Web and his own Compulsion; not even a chance to realise his fate this time, and the door swings shut.

The Leitner is still there, staring mockingly up at Jon.

He picks it up and goes home. His grandmother doesn’t notice anything wrong, and he doesn’t attempt to tell her. She hadn’t listened last time, now wouldn’t be any different.

He wants nothing more than to sleep, but aching hunger claws at him, despite the devastation that numbs his senses.

He’s awoken the Archive for nothing. 

Jon collapses on his mattress, and stares blankly at the walls of a room that do not feel like home, that never have. 

He’ll need to schedule a trip to the Institute. He’d rather have stale statements than drag trauma out from whoever's unfortunate enough to cross his path. And the Leitner made for a perfect reason to give a statement, though being under Gertrude's and Magnus’ gaze would be dangerous. But he would cross their paths one way or another, best to do it on his own terms, and if they had sensed anything, he was already in their sights. Though he doubts they would suspect an eight year old. The Beholding does not claim as wantonly as the other powers, and the development of a Beholding Avatar requires noticeable resources that very few hold regular access to.

But first, he has a book to wrap. The compulsion came from contact and reading, while he hasn’t proven to be susceptible now that the Eye was active within him again, it was better to be safe, and if anything there was something therapeutic about wrapping paper.

The next day he empties out his piggy bank and walks to the bus station. His grandmother was out again, running errands and attending some social club- knitting apparently, not that she ever made anything practical for either of them.

He approaches the ticket booth and stands on his toes to read the prices better. He has just enough for the London ticket, and if all goes well he’ll be able to compel for a ticket home.

He smooths his shirt and politely requests “Ticket for one to London please.” he slides the money into the little dish, having to stand on his toes to do so. 

It had taken a while to dig out a semi-respectable looking set of clothing, once he entered the institute it would be best to play himself off as some wandering relative. Clothes should help along the ruse, or at the very least draw less attention than the regular vibrant hues of children's clothing.

“Where are your parents young man?” the woman in the booth asks. Despite her work in customer service, she has no stories of note, not yet anyways. How disappo-

No, he’s not doing this.

“They're around the corner,” Jon says, and tries to put on a conspiratorial grin as he shoves his hunger down. “I wanted to prove that I was a-” he tries very, very hard not to gag “-big boy.” how degrading, did eight year old's actually say things like this? He knows he hadn’t, but there's little else that could convince the women across from him otherwise.

She coos as she passes him his ticket. “Take good care of that okay?”

“Of course.” he replies with a painful, plastic, smile.

The train ride itself is peaceful, the passengers unnoteworthy. Though he almost wishes they weren’t, if only for something better to do than plot for two hours as he stares at passing scenery. He hadn’t packed a book outside of the obvious, on account of wanting to cram as many statements as he could manage into his satchel for later.

Chelsea, London is just as it was before the apocalypse, misty and flooded with overpriced shops. It’s almost a comfort, if only it weren’t for his destination. Though it was quieter than he remembered. Not that he'd ventured out of the Institute much during work hours, not unless Tim had been particularly insistent. His chest pangs at the memory, and a sob that’s wholly the over emotional child brain presses against his sealed lips. He has no time or place for that, so he swallows it down with more difficulty then usual and continues on.

The moment he catches sight of the figure standing in front of the Magnus Institute's looming entrance, Jon wants to run. It’s as if Elias- Jonah was expecting him, standing there casually with a cigarette dangling between his fingers as thin trails of smoke blend into the surrounding mists.

He can’t run now, though Elias may not be looking at him, Jonah can see regardless. So he approaches tentatively, and Elias doesn’t even glance his way, gaze tipped to the sky as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. 

It’s not Jonah, he can see that now, in the heavily creased trousers and stained shirt. From his scuffed shoes to his unruly coif, this is not the man that led him like a lamb to the slaughter. This is the pothead, the one that should be oblivious and easy to fool if the rumours about the original Elias are true. He can catch a peek of warm hazel from half shuttered eyes, a full spectrum of earth instead of the glacial greens that he expects to see in those sockets.

“Those aren’t good for you.” Jon says in greeting, Leitner in hand as Elias looks down at him, eyes wide. “They call them cancer sticks for a reason.” 

Elias sighs and drops his cigarette to the ground. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” and drags his shoe smearing golden nicotine across dull pavement. “And where are your parents?” Elias asks, eyes traveling up and down the length of empty street.

“It’s July.” Jon frowns, what sort of- right pothead -and clutches tighter at the Leitner in his hands “And they're dead.” that should put an end to any prying.

“Sorry.” Elias sighs, reaching for another cigarette. Jon hisses, what was the point of crushing the last one if he was just going to pull out another? Elias pushes the pack back into his pocket. “Is your guardian around?”

“No, but it’s fine so long as I’m back by dinner.” Jon smiles as pleasantly as he can manage, and adds. “She won’t miss me.” that should erase any concerns about his wandering or being hounded by belligerent old women.

“Ah- okay?” Elias says, looking somewhat uncomfortable, drat. “That sounds lonely.” that wasn’t what Elias was supposed to get from that! Maybe it would be best to turn it around?

“Yes. You’re lonely too, aren’t you?” Jon says, staring at the man, and though he doesn’t Know him, the mists of the Lonely coalesce around brown loafers, and waft from his lungs with every breath. No wonder Jonah picked this one, Elias Bouchard has no one to turn to.

“Yeah.” Elias says, and looks at him consideringly. “But that’s nothing for a, what are you?” he squints down at Jon, and he can already feel the horribly incorrect guess wash over him. “A foundations student to worry about.” he wasn’t- isn’t that short! That’s just offensive, what sort of four year old would be allowed to wander off without a guardian anyways?

“I’m eight.” He huffs instead of the slew of ‘what’s the point of you having your own eyes if they’re that bloody useless?’ that wants to escape, he has a purpose for doing this, and it’s best to get it over with. “And I heard that the Magnus Institute deals with-” his face scrunches as he looks for a word that isn’t esoteric. “-spooky things.” he hates that word, but he can’t linger any longer, ugh, and Elias is laughing at his word choice.

“Do you have a-” Elias grins, and his hands tighten at the familiar condescension. The smile falls for a more resigned frown. ”-spooky thing to deliver?” 

“There’s a spider in this book.” Jon says dully, raising the Leitner for emphasis. “It ate Evan Pritchard.” that seems like a detail a normal eight year old would focus on. “This seemed like the best place to bring it.” not yet notorious but where else would one go for supernatural advice? A psychic? Ha!

“I can take it for you.” Elias says, sounding tired and drawn. “I work in Artefact Storage-” Hadn’t Jonah mentioned working as a filing clerk as Elias? “-we deal with books like this a lot.” he supposes Artefact Storage would, but it’s not access to the Archives or even the building. Time to resort to drastic measures.

“How do I know it’s safe?” Jon asks, pouring all the doubt and childish suspicion he can manage into the question.

“Well we’re not allowed to take strangers down there.” Elias says. “But I can promise you that I know how to handle it.”

“My name is Jon.” Jon says, and taps his foot in irritation “Lets go.”

“Sorry?” Elias asks looking like he was struck dumb by the basic demand.

“You know my name, so now we’re not strangers.” Jon frowns, why wasn’t Elias more of an easygoing idiot? “I don’t have a favourite colour, I hate spiders, and I like to read. Lets go.” More than enough to add to this charade.

“That’s not how these things work.” Elias protests weakly, but Jon tugs him towards the Institute's doors anyway. “And children can’t just wander the Institute without a guardian present!” that was an actual rule wasn’t it? He supposes children shouldn’t regularly be allowed to spew their darkest secrets and hidden traumas without a supportive adult present.

“You can be my uncle.” Jon says, though he'd prefer any alternative to that. He can still remember the whispers of nepotism that followed him through his first year as the Archivist, though they looked nothing alike. The differences even starker in adulthood.

“We don’t even look related.” Elias sighs. Good, resignation will make things easier.

“Our colouring is close enough that no one will question it.” Jon says firmly, for people under the rule of the Ceaseless Watcher, the staff were at worst ignorant, and at best didn’t care. Well he supposes at worst would technically be a body hopping lunatic from the regency era. 

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to talk to strangers?” Elias asks, trying to escape Jon’s grasp by gently tugging at his fingers, so he tightens his grip. If Elias wants to pry his fingers off, he’ll have to deal with hurting someone that looks like a child.

“You’re not a Stranger.” Jon says absently, ignoring the phantom crawl of lotion pressing into his skin. “And I’ve never been very good at doing what I was told.” he gives a wry grin at that. He could have saved himself a lot of trouble if he'd only listened to Georgie back when he was applying for jobs. And after, during his tenure on the run. “But if it makes you feel better, tell me something about you.” 

“My name is Elias, my favourite colour is green, I hate the feeling of being watched,” he winces at that, the Institute was perhaps the worst for that. “and I like-” he pauses, how suspicious, does he have interests outside of smoking? “-I like poetry.” 

“Poetry?” he asks, incredulity coating the three syllables. He’s not sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. Of course it has to be poetry. He tries not to think of Martin, of wounds too deep and fresh to do anything but fester. 

“Lewis Carrol has some neat ones.” Elias shrugs. “Not all his poems are Jabberwock, but if I had to say why, I guess there’s something nice about a series of poems written for others.“ back to looking for something to fill that void in his chest, he didn’t really enjoy the poetry then, just the sentiment behind it.

“I guess.” Jon says. He supposes he can respect that. “You need to open the door.”

Elias stares blankly at the door and blinks before looking at Jon. He blinks back, tamping down on as much of the rising anticipation-hunger-yearning-theArchivesarerightthere.

“Right, I’ll just-” Elias looks unsettled as he digs around his pockets for a key. He unlocks the door, and pushes it open. Jon immediately spots a blank table that carries traces of the fourteen, and places the book beside a basket full of assorted kitchen and gardening equipment. This wasn’t all they had to deal with the supernatural, was it?

“Do you mind if I ask what Jon is short for?” Elias asks, tugging on the gardening gloves in smooth practiced motions. What the- was this why Sasha had wanted to transfer out so badly?

“Don’t be stupid.” Jon mutters, what else could Jon be short for outside of Jonathan? He sits on one of the stools that were tucked under the table and watches as Elias digs through the baskets meager offerings.

“I suppose you’re right, how could I forget that it’s short for Jongleur.” Elias says blandly as he takes a scalpel and- was that a pair of barbeque tongs? -to the newspaper. 

Jon lets out an aggrieved noise, he’s not even sure what’s worse, knowing that jongleur meant poet, the fact that Elias isn’t even trying, or how expertly Elias handled the Leitner with tongs and a scalpel. “You’re not even trying!” 

“Sorry Jaundice.” Elias hums.

Jon can’t tamp down on the offended noise that erupts, really? Jaundice? That’s just rude!

“How much newspaper did you use on this?” Elias asks, as if he hadn't just referred to Jon as a condition of alcohol poisoning.

“All of it.” Jon says with a sunny grin, once he’d gotten into the rhythm of it, it had been hard to stop. And now he has the added bonus of watching Elias struggle through it.

“How very thorough of you Jonty.” Elias says, and Jon elects to ignore all future names as Elias draws his scalpel through the paper once more. “Have you considered applying for a position?”

“Absolutely not!” Jon frowns, and Elias nods agreeably.

“Wise decision young Jonas, they catch you with promises of respectability and pigeonhole you with crazy cursed things and spooky ladies. The contracts a Faustian nightmare.” 

“You read the contract?” Jon squints at him, and Elias shrugs. The local stoner had read the contract in its entirety, and knew just what it entailed, and agreed? 

“Well yeah, Wright was uh, my boss that is, _the_ boss, he was kind of rushing me through the process and if my politics professor taught me anything, it’s to read the fine print.” Elias removes another thick layer of casing, he should be close to the center soon, and the idea of looking at the book again sends his stomach roiling.

“But you signed anyway.” Jon says, and he can’t help the frustration that bleeds into his voice. “Why?”

“I needed a respectable job so I wouldn’t get disowned, and philosophy was the only subject I took that I sort of enjoyed, so I figured academia was the best place for me.” Elias says, poking idly at the Leitner with the tongs, as if it would come to life and bite him at any second. Jon looks away. “The Magnus Institute was the least uppity about grades, and the supernatural sounded better than studying policy decisions for the rest of my life.” how uninspired, no fear based trauma trails him either, Elias Bouchard is an incredibly average man who has knowingly walked into hell because he didn’t want a normal job. Jon’s hands clutch at his shirt, his knuckles near white as he voices an awful truth for this fool of a man.

“So you knowingly tied yourself to the Institute.” his head rushes towards the table, and he wonders how hard he’ll have to hit it to properly digest this information. 

“I mean at least the Institute is more upfront about you signing your life away then any other company.” Elias says, picking the book up with his tongs, examining it from all angles. “But that’s enough about me, why come to the Institute if you know all this already?” it’s a loaded question, and he doesn’t plan to reveal his intentions to a pothead. Who knew how loose lipped a man like that could be?

“I was curious.” Jon says instead of one of his myriad reasons, sliding down from the stool to watch Elias’ work more closely.

“No you're not.” Elias sighs, prying open the book and subsequently shutting it the moment Leitner’s book plate appears. “If you already know what’s up here, you’re not curious, not really.”

“I am!” Jon has plenty of things to be curious about, like why is his connection to Beholding so tenuous, or why is this Elias nothing like the snippets he’d gathered from Gertrude's tapes? But he can’t say any of that, so a subject change was in order. “And where’s all your coworkers?” Artefact Storage is surprisingly empty for this time of day. Elias is walking to a nearby shelf, book in tongs, so Jon trails after.

“We don’t get cursed artefacts everyday, most of the time we help out in Research unless the Archives need something.” that would make sense, though he has to wonder why that practice was dropped in the future. There wasn’t much interaction between the Archives and Storage in the future either, just the odd memo or request sent between them. But rarely if ever anything in person. “Most of the stuff sent in isn’t even supernatural, it’s just regular creepy dolls and old furniture.” 

“Is that our next stop?” Jon asks, he can feel the pulse of the Archives under his skin beating in time with his heart as ~~home~~ it sings to him. They come to a stop in front of a bookshelf with windows. Hadn’t Elias claimed that they had a secure storage method? “I thought you said it would be safe.” 

“We submitted a request a couple years ago, but Wright’s been dragging his feet. I think he’s mad I don’t stay overtime for department head meetings.” Elias shrugs in a ‘what can you do?’ manner. “We’re not going to the Archives, Johan.” Wait a moment, that last bit wasn’t consistent with past reports.

“You’re the Head of Artefact Storage?” Jon asks, eyes narrowing as he attempts to fit the inconsistent pieces together. “Aren’t you-” a vagrant, pothead, irresponsible nobody?

“Elected head, no one wants to deal with Wright and I was late that day.” Elias shrugs again, and he can understand that. Jonah was always exhausting. “And we don’t have clearance to go down there, Gertrude isn’t very nice.” that was a rather charitable way of saying Gertrude was ruthlessly pragmatic and had little patience for those outside of her goals.

“I’ll make a statement.” Jon says, if that's the only way in he’ll do it. It’s not the first time he’s given Mr. Spider as a statement.

“With what guardian Johnnycake?” Jon stumbles at the name and is only kept upright by Elias catching his shoulder. The gesture is too familiar, and he represses a shudder in favour of seeping out vitriolic irritation.

“With my awful Uncle Eli,” Jon snaps, as Elias lets go of his shoulder, and he tries to smooth away the tremors through sheer force of will. “Obviously.”

“And if I don’t?” Elias asks, hand resting tauntingly on the Archives’ door handle.

“I know where you live.” Jon says -he doesn’t not yet, but he will- as he stares unblinkingly at Elias until he breaks.

“Fair enough.” Elias shrugs, and opens the door. “If we’re lucky the Archives staff will still be out of town and I can take the statement for them.” 

Jon doesn’t say anything, just stands there frozen in mute horror. There’s an alarmingly large portrait of Jonah Magnus hanging in the center of his Archives, pale jade eyes constantly Watching as he reclines imperiously on a dark green chaise looking like an utter wanker. He hopes Gertrude burned it before she was- will be= might be murdered. 

And then there's the two figures that stood in front of the Head Archivists office. A strawberry blond Gerry who looks intensely uncomfortable beside the domineering presence of his mother.

“We’re pretty sure the paintings cursed, but Wright won’t let us haul it into Artefact Storage, even though everyone knows that portraits that have eyes that follow you wherever you go are probably haunted.” Elias blathers, blissfully unaware of Mary and Gerard. “Since Gerty isn’t in, I guess I’ll help you write out your statement.” he tucks Jon to his side, as he guides him deeper into the Archives, and Jon has to withhold a soft sigh as the Beholding swaddles him in its gaze. He hates that he’s missed this.. 

Mary’s not having it and stalks towards them, heels clicking like daggers against the old wood. “Bouchard, where the hell is Gertrude, she’s supposed to be back today!” Elias seems to be deliberately ignoring her now, so Jon does the same.

“Why can’t we just record it?” Jon asks, watching Gerry shuffle awkwardly in place. He’s not sure what to do. Does he let things play out and give Gerry a warning about his cancer, or should he try and remove Mary from the picture? But he can’t help Gerry as a child, the foster system might be preferable to Mary, but- he needs more time to think things through.

“Oh hello Gerry, would you like to hear some stories about your father?” Elias greets, completely ignoring Keay as he sits Jon at Michael’s desk. Michael who's unlikely to have any real statements or the faintest idea of the esoteric. Lovely, he’s just going to have to look himself. “Gerty would blow a fuse if someone else recorded a statement, something about breaking protocol and a violation of the Archives or something.” Elias directs the last bit towards him.

“That’s stupid.” Jon says, flipping through the available statements. He can feel an echo of fear greet him. Only one true statement among the lot, the Lonely. Just innocuous enough to be rationalised away by the unaware.

“Where the fuck is she Bouchard?” Keay hisses, grabbing Elias’ shoulder. He would hate to watch this Elias get eaten alive, obnoxious or not he wasn’t- isn't a bastard like Magnus.

“That’s not my department, Missus Delano.” Elias says with a polite smile, and Jon quickly revises that last bit.

“It’s Keay to you, Bouchard.” she snarls feral and vicious, oozing Slaughter and Hunt as saliva glistens with every spat word.

“You’ll have to take it up with Wright, but we can’t have unsupervised visitors wandering around the archives.” Elias replies wholly unphased. Was this normal behaviour down here? He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised considering Melanie’s multiple fits of attempted homicide. Well if they were both occupied he’ll just get what he needs.

“The boy?” Keay bites out, she must mean him. That’s nice he supposes, thumbing through the folders, letting Beholding nudge him towards the true statements that were in his reach. How considerate of his patron to guide him to dinner.

“My nephew, Jonquil.” Jon twitches, that was a flower of the narcissus family, as poisonous as its cousins, the accepted meaning was of desire, to love and be loved, somewhat mired in sympathy, sorrow, and death. Lovely. “Who wouldn’t be unsupervised if you’d let me do my job.”

“I thought this wasn’t your department.” Keay says pleasantly as Jon packs more statements into his bag.

“It’s not.” Elias agrees, “However, the Head of Artefact Storage normally takes statements when the Archivist and her assistants are unavailable.” another tidbit he hadn’t known, but then he'd hardly, if ever, left the Archives unoccupied during his tenure.

“They left a fool like you in charge of the Leitners?” Mary shrieks, and perhaps that’s his cue to see how Gerry’s doing. “Who would let a waste like you be Head?” Elias seems to be handling Mary just fine. 

“Hello Gerry.” Jon says, watching as the blond starts at being addressed. “My name is Jon, I don’t like spiders, but I do like to read.” he holds his hand out, and Gerry grasps it after a moment of hesitation. Excellent, this was already going better than expected.

“Uh, hi Jon, my names Gerry. I don’t like reading or spiders much, but I like-” Gerry stutters and Jon’s heart drops. He spoke too soon, this was terrible, how did people interact with children again? “-um, I like the music that plays on the radio, the ones by that American- uh Michael Jackson? Those are always nice.” yes great, conversation was back! But, Jon knows nothing about music. Beholding nudges the knowledge between his eyes, and he doesn’t know what to do with the current chart toppers playing all at once in a slurry of indecipherable cacophony. He’s saved by Elias’ voice cutting through the riotous din as he adopts a familiar smarmy edge, the cadence slipping towards Jonah’s preferred crisp edges and mercurial teasing.

“Yes, it's a shame you weren’t nicer to me or you could have visited our collection.” Jon doubts that, but Mary’s fury is impressive in it’s ruddy manifestation. He hadn’t known people could hold that much blood in their face. “Would you like to leave a message for Gertrude? I’ll make sure it gets to her some time in the next month, you know how bureaucracy is.” definitely a bastard, but not in a bad way.

Mary’s hand flies, and a wordless cry escapes Jon as he can only watch as chunky rings catch the Archives soft lighting like captured embers. 

Blood weeps from a cut beneath Elias' eye, the only sign of life as the man stands frozen. Jon tries to move forward but Gerry grabs his arm, desperate fear sets blue eyes aglow, and he tries not to bask in its potency, tugging uselessly against Gerard's ridiculously strong grip.

He can only watch as Elias shifts into a terrifyingly familiar stance, back straight, and though he's neither tall, nor broad, he calls for attention in the tip of his chin and the curl of his lip. Casually he wipes his blood onto the hem of his shirt, as if it were a regular occurrence. “I should hope that you learn some restraint, one might get the wrong idea about what goes on in your household.” Elias sneers in the same lilting tones favoured by Magnus, threats curling like silvered daggers on his tongue, as he looks and knows.

“You have nothing!” she hisses, her hand raising once again, beads of blood clinging to the rings that adorn skeletal fingers. But her wrist is caught by an old wrinkled hand, corded with stark blue veins. Jonah Magnus had entered the room, and Jon hadn’t noticed. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave Mary Keay.” Magnus says as calm and unaffected as ever. His eyes the same desolate blizzard that stripped you to your bone and left you frozen. A devil of a man in a three piece, playing at being grandfatherly as he gives a gentle smile that would not look out of place were it not for the distinct lack of warmth. “I can’t have the public assaulting my employees within my own walls.” Jon chokes down a sour laugh, can’t have the public, but worms, worms are an exception you see-

“I am not the public!” Mary shrieks, resentment weighs her shoulders, thick and heavy, as she attempts to stand taller. He wonders if she’ll rant about the Von Closen lineage.

“Without your dearly departed young Delano I’m afraid you are Mary.” Magnus tuts softly. “I would hate to have to call security on Eric’s family.”

Jon rolls his eyes, as if family meant anything to those monsters. Elias walks towards them, cigarette pack in hand, and Jon can’t help the disapproving noise that escapes. To his surprise Elias tugs out a plain business card, one that came with being a department head; all stiff white card with the black owl looking out from the back, and a tiny eye breaking the space between name and phone number. The design hasn’t changed in twenty years, he should’ve expected that. 

“If you’re ever in trouble.” Elias murmurs, pressing it into Gerry’s hand as his mother orders him out, already halfway through the door. Gerry accepts it, grasping it like a lifeline, his last candle in the dark, one that will never be used for fear of never having an opportunity to see or escape again. 

Gerry won’t use that card, Mary scares him; but she’s the only constant in his life.

Then it’s just the three of them, and the weight of Beholding slams against him as Jonah Magnus turns his gaze to them. Jon darts behind Elias’ legs, if he acts like a normal scared child, Magnus shouldn’t think much of him. He could never see as clearly in the Archives once Jon stopped trusting him, and it’s probably doubly true with Gertrude as the Archivist. But if his hunch is correct, Beholding is willing to let him keep his secret for a little longer. There was already an Archivist afterall, and Jonah would have known the moment he entered the Institute. 

“Who’s this Elias?” Magnus asks with a smile that Jon thinks is supposed to be genial, but has too many teeth to be anything other than a threat.

“My nephew-” Elias says, and he can see his gaze darting across the room, and the moment it settles on the portrait dread lances through him. “-Jon-ack” a wheeze escapes him as Jon jabs him as hard as he can manage. Absolutely not, he’ll accept Johnnycakes and Jonquil, but there were lines! “Jon. Just Jon, because he’s a brat.” Elias says with an audible smile.

“You’ve lost uncle rights.” Jon grumbles, trying to lean into the echoes of his eight year old self. “Even Jaundice is better than that poncy name.” Magnus’ smile cracks, and he buries his face into Elias’ side to smother a grin. 

“I can see the resemblance.” Wright nods stiffly, and Jon would like to scream ‘what resemblance?’ but he doesn’t, because he expected the Georgian fop to do this, hoped for it really. “But I must ask, why is he here? It’s not safe for children to wander the Institute.” as if it was safe for anyone to wander the Institute.

“Oh he was just stopping in for a visit, sent off as a messenger about the next family reunion and all that, I think they’re trying to guilt trip me into going this time.” Elias says with a cheery and vapid tone, his hands have slid into his pockets as he slouches deeper than before. “Little Jon here is the most dashing one they’ve sent so far, and I must admit he’s already convinced me to treat him to ice cream in the ten minutes he’s been here.” Jon's convinced him to what?

“Not Robin Hood.” Jon mutters instead, slipping further out of Jonah’s line of sight. “Let’s go.” 

“Can’t disobey the little prince.” Elias says easily and Jon grips onto his hand and tugs gently. Best play up that aspect, wouldn’t do to have Magnus question anything. “We’ll have to stop off for my blazer, can’t have this mess.” Elias waves at the blood stains, as if the shirt wasn’t already a wreck of mysterious stains. “Oh and I’m not sure if you received my emails about department spending, Artefact Storage was hoping for a budget increase, hazmat suits, extinguishers and what not. It’d be a shame if there were a repeat incident of last year's fire,” last years what? Why the hell did it take so long to get the CO2 suppression system? “ the Archives are just next door to us after all.” Elias strides past a silent Magnus and Jon darts forward, eager to get away from Magnus’ watch. 

They stop off at Elias’ office, it’s much smaller than Jon’s had been. Elias putters around, shoving work into a briefcase as Jon takes in the sight. It’s cozy in a way Jon had never bothered with, there's a faded green throw draped over the back of the too large office chair, but nothing overtly personal. No photos or knick knacks, just small comforts to push away the chill.

Elias has found what they had come for, a blazer that Jonah wouldn’t be caught dead in, the fabric shining like the cheap plastic it is.

Jon watches as he shrugs the jacket on, in quick sloppy movements that crease the sleeves. Elias combs blindly through messy curls of black hair with his fingers faffing it into something vaguely tired and professional instead of the deflated messy coif from before. Not slicked back or cemented with gel as Jonah had preferred.

“What’re you looking like that for?” Elias asks, beckoning for Jon to follow. “Most kids are delighted to get ice cream.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Jon frowns, fingers digging into his bag strap. But he follows anyway.

“I’m aware.” Elias says, fingers tapping against the box in his pocket, better that, than the thin silver case that carried what he really wanted. “But I want to, and the Institute's no place for a child.”

“I’m not a child.” Jon says. “And you have.” he taps his cheek, the cut still wept sluggishly down Elias' cheek, accentuating the sharp planes of his face. The man grabs a plaster from an overflowing first aid kit and slaps it on. Looking for all the world like a clumsy and harried office worker.

“Of course you’re not.” Elias agrees in the way adults do when they're just being indulgent, taking Jon’s hand as they wander down to the street. “But there are better places to talk.”

“He’ll see anyways.” Jon says, but lets Elias take him to a nearby ice cream parlour.

“What’s the worst he can do? Kill me?” Elias asks with a crooked grin, but Jon doesn’t reciprocate. He sighs. “That’s not a good look.”

“Did you notice that Mr. Wright has the same eyes as the portrait?” Jon asks in the careful tones of a child delightedly pointing out a pointless detail. 

“Really now?” Elias says, voice dripping with keen honey, as he asks Jon about what flavour he wants. There’s no condescension so he plays his next card.

“Yes, do you think it’s part of the position?” Jon asks, before requesting two test samples, earl grey and mint chip. They don’t have rum-and-raisin which is a shame. The earl grey tastes exactly like cold tea, and he’s not really sure what he had been expecting. But it was nice, like the first year at the Archives, where he would bury himself in statements through long nights and a mug would always be there waiting. The mint was good too, crisp and clear in a way things haven’t been in a long while.

“You might be onto something.” Elias says, watching as Jon’s gaze flicks between the two flavours. Both were good, he hates the Archives as much as he misses them, and the mints clarity felt like a trap. He’s thinking too deeply about this, he has to pick before Elias’ patience runs dry. “Two scoops for him in those flavours, and I’ll take an espresso caramel.” oh, he didn’t expect that. “Cup or cone?” he asks Jon. 

“Cup.” another choice? He has a feeling they’ll be talking, and he’s terrible at multitasking, ice cream pooling down his hand is awful, sticky tracks that got everywhere and could still be felt even after you washed it off.

“Your son’s very cute.” the cashier smiles, and Jon tries not to bristle as she hands Elias two cups, there's a waffle cone that they hadn’t ordered sitting in Jon’s cup. Elias hums noncommittally as he finishes paying. Why didn’t she charge them for the cone?

“It seems I’ve been promoted from terrible uncle.” he muses, handing Jon his cup. 

“Your eyes are hazel and more narrow, your nose is completely different, aquiline while mine is thin and straight.” Jon huffs, waving his spoon with the occasional sharp jab to punctuate his simmering fury. This is why he never left the office, everyone was stupid once they came into contact with more then six people a day. 

“Yes, well that happens when one’s father is French.” Elias agrees, as if that was the important takeaway. Jon ignores that and leads him to a nearby bench and hops onto the corner seat. “Now before you start, I have a few questions for you.”

“Was the ice cream a bribe?” Jon asks, frowning as he holds the cup away from himself. The flavours were quite nice, but bribes always soured the sweetest of treats.

“Hardly, it was an apology for having to meet Keay and Wright.” Elias laughs, as if Jon was being the ridiculous one. He pulls a few pages from his bag, a few statements. “This is my bribe, I saw you stealing statements, and we both know the book wasn’t the real reason you came to the Institute.” Jon’s eyes latch onto the papers, watching as Elias waves the bribe gently, he already has a bag full, but there was no reason to reject more.

“One question per statement?” Jon asks, Elias doesn’t understand the weight of the statements and Jon isn’t keen to reveal himself as some fear creature, so this will have to do.

“It seems fair enough.” Elias says, glancing at the statement he holds. “Why point out the eyes?” 

“It’s important.” Jon replies, reaching expectantly for the page, the terms were vague so he could answer however he liked.

“That’s a non-answer, I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think it was important.” Elias says, raising the statement out of his reach. Curse his size, Elias didn’t even need to raise it that high.

“Why do you think he’s trying so hard for an after hours meeting?” Jon asks instead, rubbing at his eyes. Kneading the lids as he waits for the pieces to fall into place. Just enough to give an idea of the full picture for one who’s looking.

“I’d be a terrible host, no worthwhile connections.” Elias says with a shake of his head. “And I haven't done anything worth mentioning in my twenty-seven years.”

Jon stares blankly at Elias, that was the point. Wait Elias was twenty-seven? He hadn’t thought he’d been on the lower end of middle aged, more like mid-fifties, though that would explain how he was capable of bludgeoning a man to death with a pipe. 

“I see.” Elias sighs, though Jon doubts that’s wholly true, and reaches for the silver case that he Knows to be buried beneath the papers.

“Stay focused!” Jon scolds swatting at Elias’ hand, before snatching the statement from his grasp. “I thought only the Archives kept statements.”

“We need them to understand how to handle the newer artifacts.” Elias shrugs, and that makes a surprising amount of sense. “We don’t keep them for longer than a month usually, but they should all be true.” he tugs out another statement, an older one looking one that had a ring of coffee staining the bottom. “Why do you care?”

“What?” Jon asks, not sure what Elias is getting at. Why did he care about the statements relation to Artefact Storage? It was interesting but, he supposes it’s not for a normal eight year old.

“No one would notice if I was gone or different, some might even prefer that, so why do you care?” Elias lists, as he stabs at his ice cream. Oh, oh no, that’s-

“But that’s terrible!” Jon cries, and he hates how he sounds so young. “No one should- If that’s true then-” his eyes burn viciously, and he shoves down the vitriolic words of the Tim from his memories, as he grasps for something better.

“Don’t equate my own insignificance to your connections.” Elias sighs, pulling out an old handkerchief, E.B. is embroidered neatly in golden thread, it gleams softly in the overcast. “You’re young, you can still grow and make meaningful ties.” he presses the cloth into Jon’s hand and extracts the cup of mostly melted ice cream from him.

“No I can’t!” Jon wails, voice crackling with painful feedback as the tears increase, blinding him as despair pounds against him with the growing buzz of radio static. Why was this stupid pitiful stoner the one that could understand? How could he think life was over at twenty-seven and tell Jon that he still had time? Why was he so right and so wrong? Does he even want connections? He sure as hell doesn't deserve them after everything that he’s done.

There’s a hand rubbing at his back, and he’s cuddled against Elias’ chest, he’s too tired for embarrassment, and just pushes his face against rough polyester to block out the world for a little longer. Elias thinks he’s a normal eight year old anyways, he can afford to indulge in a little more wallowing, even if he doesn’t deserve Elias’ pity, his dignity was already dead in a ditch.

They sit like that for a while.

“What if we had an arrangement?” Elias asks, after a long while, when Jon’s choked sobs have died and only empty misery remains. “We meet up once a week and I’ll give you new statements in return for the old ones, and you can make sure I haven’t had an unplanned surgery.”

“What do you get out of all of this?” Jon asks, dully, everyone wants something in exchange for kindness. Elias’ expression flickers before smoothing into a gentle smile.

“I suppose I get a very cute nephew to talk about to my coworkers.” Elias laughs, and Jon protests weakly, he’s not cute. “Everyone says we look something alike, we don’t but it’s a nice thought. He’s something of a miscreant, always wandering off to places he shouldn’t, but I suppose that’s how the little terror ferrets out all those secrets he collects.” Jon tries not to let that sting, but it wasn’t untrue. “But he’s kind and clever, so it’s not all bad dealing with his brattiness.” oh, that’s- oh.

“You’re awful!” Jon says, pushing away from Elias’ now sopping shoulder, but he can’t help the tiny smile that pulls viciously at his cheeks.

“Anything for my darling Jones.” Elias says as if nothing has changed

“It’s Jonathan, Jonathan Sims.” Jon says, and before he can back out. “What sort of uncle can’t get something like that right?” 

“Of course, my apologies dear Jonathan.” Elias says, letting Jon tug him away from their little bench and into the now bustling street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a certain humour/tragedy to be found in the dissonance between characters perceptions of the same events. But Jon doesn't make for the most compelling narrator when compared to Elias, it might be all the knowingness.  
> Don't @me for recycling a few lines outside of the dialogue, if the line slaps or are at their most basic, they stay.


End file.
